


Buttercup

by Kuripuri



Series: Flower Prompts Collection [2]
Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Gen, I SHIT YOU NOT, Jolly cooperation, all encounters describe have happened to me, buttercup - Freeform, flower prompt, ingratitude, warriors of sunlight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 14:42:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11876706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuripuri/pseuds/Kuripuri
Summary: Flower prompt, also posted on my tumblr; tyvian-whaler.tumblr.comI think I remember reading somewhere that people hated when someone posts a work and tags 50 fandoms with 4000 tags accordingly when it's just a bunch of prompts so I will oblige. Each prompt will be a new work.Buttercup- ingratitude





	Buttercup

**Author's Note:**

> Buttercup- ingratitude

Aside from the giant hole in the sky it's a pleasant day. The breeze is gentle, their weapons are sharp and the undead leading up to the fog from the bonfire were too slow to land a hit. Or perhaps they themselves have gotten faster. Perhaps they have grown accustomed to the undead littering the castle although they aren't sure how many times they have pushed through the area.  
  
Must've been enough times for it to make a difference. Nevertheless, they are counting their blessing as the radiant carving on the ground has been touched a few times already. It seems they were not the only one who had difficulty defeating the animated armour although now that they have discovered its weakpoints it's hardly a battle at all.  
  
The secret, as they have come to realize, is the chill eminating from the rapier in their hands, a secret hidden not that far from the battleground. The sharp end of the rapier has proved efficient in breaking through the armour as well, making the weapon exceptional when fighting the armour. The frost seems capable of slowing down whatever magic that holds the pieces together and a critical hit is never far off with a bit of practice.  
  
Despite the efficiencey of the rapier, they can't say they're having too much fun. To engage in glorious cooperation means working for the benefit of the host of the world and they must put down their favorite weapon in favor of whatever enemy they must best. They miss the gracefulness of the scythe, the beautiful reaper that more often than not seems to make the undead bleed out before the blade can cut through something important. Such a magnificent...  
  
Ah, but they must hold that thought. The sign on the ground is reverberating and they feel the comfortable pull from their own world to another. No matter the distance the journey is always short and they rise from the ground in golden splendor with their arms outstretched towards the amazing sky and the radiant sun.  
  
The host welcomes them with outstretched arms and... Oh! They have summoned another helpful spirit, a phantom emiting a brilliant white light. How marvelous! Such a kind undead, helping lost souls defeat the wondrous beast without the promise of a sunlight medal.  
  
Surely the battle will be a breeze now, a quick victory for the three of them. Except, the host seems to wander the grounds, scurrying across the cobblestone without aim. Has the curse gotten to them? It can't be, they would've been driven hostile out of madness. But then what...  
  
The world around them shifts to accept another body but to no avail. A white ring briefly appears on the ground infront of the host before it dissipates with the wind and the world returns to normal. Well, one phantom is more than capable to assist and two are certainly plenty for comfort.  
  
But the host seems adamant on a third phantom. The white phantom apears to grow impatient, waving their sword back and forth to grab the attention of the host and the host reciprocates but refuses to pass through the fog, instead waiting for yet another sign to glow on the ground.  
  
It only takes a few minutes but a few minutes is all they would've needed to defeat the beast standing in the way and finally, the host finds a sign and summons another gentle undead. The world shifts and makes room for the new spirit, another white aura, and the four of them finally enter the battle.  
  
It all goes well, they have fought this creature many times before and can predict where it directs its lightning and when it strikes out with its shield. For a brief moment they remember the first time the shield struck them, how they felt their skull crack at impact and their sight dissapear for a moment and ultimately how the animated armour guided its giant axe to crush them, sending them back to the bonfire to wake up, dazed and nauseous but in one piece.  
  
Oh what good fun it has been! It seems that the host is experiencing their first time as well with this particular beast as they try to absorb the damage the monster dishes out with their shield. Unfortunately, while it's a sound tactic, this creature hits far too hard for a common shield to do anything but break the arm of the wielder and the host seems to realize this as they stagger, trying to regain their balance.  
  
Luckily they quickly dodge out of the way and the phantoms increase their attack to draw the attention away but before the host may heal the armour lunges at the poor soul and slams its hammer down. What a pity, all that wait and no reward. There is only so much a simple phantom can do and while one might think that three phantoms would be a straight victory, it's not as simple.  
  
The world fades around them as they are all pulled back into their own world and without missing a beat they carve the ancienct words on the ground with their soapstone once more.  
  
It is unfortunate but if they persist they will conquer and maybe the host will reach their sign and they can try once more. They sit in silence, watching the winged creatures above circle the castle grounds until yet again they feel the comfortable pull of a host summoning for help. It is not the same host and at first they fear they may have entered an empty world.  
  
But behind them they can hear the clashing of metal and the thunderous sound of the armour striking a target and they realize that the battle has already begun. Quickly they rush through the fog and thrust their rapier forward. The armour, much like before, has its eyes on the host and they can jab at it in rapid succession, until the chill from their blade freezes a part of the armour. Before the beast can retaliate they jab at the frosted area and it recoils in agony, retreating a few steps before lunging again.  
  
The fight results in a success and they bow to the host, thanking them for the summon and the wondrous sunlight medal that appears before them. But the host remains oblivious to their presence and hurries away, towards the bonfire that must be eagerly awaiting fresh embers.  
  
As they get pulled back into their own world they can't help but to feel a little... put off by that behaviour. By the sun! They danced together in glorious cooperation and the host did not even recognize their presence.  
  
At least there's another glowing medal in their inventory and the host did not die. Despite their lack of manners they both got out of it with something nice.  
  
They weigh the rapier in their hand and casually thrust it at nothing. It has now been a few hours, or is it a few days? they can't remember, but the castle is beginning to bore them. The weather at the castle is humid and warm, warmer now after their rigorous exercise and a change of scenery would be nice.  
  
Perhaps Anor Londo would provide a sufficient change, a comfortable chill and beautiful snowfall. The creature that dwells in the castle wields powerful magic but its weak against common flame.  
  
They browse through their inventory and finds a few charcoal pine resins and if memory serves them right, as it rarely does, the resin may be applied to their scythe. Oh, how they miss the dance with the scythe, causing their enemies to bleed from long lacerations. In this particular case the blade will be less lethal than the fire but they look forward to the combination and seeing how well it fares.  
  
They bring forth their soapstone and carve the words on the ground, walking towards the edge of the bridge to gaze down on the city below. It is a beautiful place, ethereal and eternal, but they can't appriciate the view for too long as they are quickly pulled from their world and thrust into another.  
  
The host awaits them and wiggles their sword infront of them, greeting them, and patiently waiting for the phantom to reply with a wave. It's just the two of them and the host seems confident as they then dash towards the castle up the stairs. The silver knights have not been disposed of and they prepare to fight them but the host darts by and continues on.  
  
Ah, it's an experienced one. The battle must be even easier as they are both familiar with the disgusting creature. The host reaches the fog and passes through as the phantom is still ascending the final stairs, clumsily getting hit with a fireball from one of the clerics. Quickly, before another ball hits them they spread the resin on the scythe and lunge through the fog.  
  
The host has already rushed towards the disgusting half-slug, half-human and they follow suit. What a glorious battle! What a brave host! They work efficiently in unison, striking the tail of the beast and jumping over debris to avoid attacks.  
  
When the beast aims their arrow high towards the phantom, they start running along the edges of the massive room, leaving the host to finish striking the creature with fires from their hand that could rival the incandescent glow of the sun. It cries out when it's defeated, as it freezes in the moment of death and falls backwards, and they run towards the host to bow to their valiant effort.  
  
But the host kneels before they reach them, and a familiar purple aura surrounds them. Suddenly the phantom gets pulled backwards abruptly and they are cast out of the world and back into their own. Stunned, they stand clutching their scythe at the edge of the bridge.  
  
What the...? Surely they didn't... But a quick look in their inventory reveals that the number of glorious sunlight medals remain the same. They... sent them home? But they helped! They fought together. Why would they deprive them of such a thing as a victory?  
  
Anger fills their body as they grip the white soapstone in their hand. That's enough. For today or this week or month, they don't know, but it's enough. They throw it into their inventory and turn to travel back through the bonfire to the shrine but then... A flash of red catches their eye and their hand reaches in to pull out an orb. It's cracked but functional and at first they refuse.  
  
They are a warrior of sunlight, meant to help people undo the curse in their world. To help more worlds reach light and a new beginning and yet... Perhaps this will soothe the anger that has grown from the ingratitude they have suffered. Perhaps they just need a quick hunt before they can resume guiding gentle undead to the light and although it goes against their principles, how many have they helped?  
  
One little soul shouldn't matter much.


End file.
